Missing
by Pandora40
Summary: Part two up.  When a woman disappears from her New York home and her husband reports her missing, the team investigates and learns of an abusive and strained relationship with her husband, trouble at work, and suspects who all have something to hide.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: the "8 hours missing" in chapter 2 is not a mistake, but a deliberate backtracking. The team becomes involved after Deni leaves for Atlanta. Please forgive any errors and note that they will be corrected later.

Disclaimer: "Without a Trace" is property of Jerry Bruckheimer and the show's producers, and CBS television.

The door of the Greyhound bus swung shut behind her with a dull sense of finality and Deni Masters handed her ticket to the annoyed driver. Annoyed, because she'd arrived on the platform about thirty seconds before the departure time. The driver took her ticket. She managed to find two empty seats and settled into the corner by the window, watching as the bus backed out of the terminal and onto the highway. Behind her, everything she had ever known began to slip away quietly. As she watched the city fall away through the window Deni sighed, fighting back tears. The nightmare was one she couldn't begun to imagine. She'd been told only that she would be met and that the woman waiting at the other end would take her someplace safe... some place where she could start over. Start over? She wasn't living right now-she was surviving, making it through one day at a time. How could she even think about starting over, when she wasn't sure she could hope to let go. The truth was, she was afraid. Afraid Jim would find her, afraid he wouldn't, afraid of looking forward - into a life without him in it.

It had been like a scene from one of those bad movies. One minute, he was the sweetest guy in the world... then the auto company he'd worked for had laid off a bunch of employees, Jim one of them, and he had changed overnight. When he started hitting her, Deni hadn't known what to do, and so she'd stayed, because she knew nothing else. She was safe at work - mostly. Jim rarely came there. She suspected he was humiliated because she was the one supporting both of them - she was providing the income, she was the one who was working... but she knew it could could not continue. Too humiliated to look for work, Jim's alcoholism and subsequent abuse had become gradually worse, until Deni knew there were only two ways out: escape - or die.

When Layla, her best friend at work, had noticed the healing bruise under her right eye, she had reluctantly confessed all. Layla had at once insisted that she was to leave and never return. Run. Don't look back, she had said. Thank God, Deni thought now, they had never had children. It was easier to leave without children to think of - but she was afraid. It had taken Layla a couple of hours of badgering to convince her to let her call a friend who worked at a women's shelter. Deni had hesitated, appalled at the idea of telling anyone else - but Layla swore this other woman could be trusted. Deni had faltered and nearly refused... but Layla was persistant, and Deni conceded.

When Susan arrived, Deni and Layla had met her for coffee, and quietly Deni had confessed that which, until that day, she had only told Layla, and only then because she had needed someone to talk to. Susan was appalled and insisted that they get Deni on a bus immediately. She would be safe, and Jim need never know where she had gone. Sure, she'd lose some mementos and photos, but she would be alive.

Deni was afraid, but it was Layla's and Susan's persistence that convinced her at last to leave. "He's not going to stop, Deni," Susan said gently. "Once they start, they nearly never do. They'll sweet talk you with flowers and a romantic dinner and tell you how sorry they are, but they aren't going to stop." Something bitter in Susan's eyes suggested that she had spoken from experience. Six months ago, she would never have believed it possible of Jim, but now she was afraid. At last she nodded, and Susan took her to the bus station.

She had nothing to her name... only a few photos in her wallet and some cash Layla and Susan had both given her. They'd stopped at an ATM on the way and told her to withdraw whatever she could and cut up her credit cards so she would not be tempted to use them - credit cards could be tracked - cash could not. She withdrew two hundred dollars and Susan insisted on buying her bus ticket - they had funding for that, she said, so Deni reluctantly agreed. The ticket was for Atlanta - it was going to be a long few days.

It was four days later, in fact, when the bus arrived at last in Atlanta. Gathering up her purse, Deni stuffed her book - the only posession she owned besides the clothes on her back - into her purse, then stepped off the bus and look around. She smelled like a dirty sock - she had been wearing the same outfit - pants, sweater and jacket - that she had worn to work that morning. She had only the travel toothbrush she'd bought on the way and her book, wallet, and a few personal items in her purse. This was to be the start of her new life.

"Deni?" a woman was waiting as she stepped off the bus and through the station doors. She nodded.

"Susan called to say you were coming. I'm Jenn. We don't use last names here."

"Jenn." Deni acknowledged quietly. "Where are you taking me?"

"I can't tell you til we're out of public earshot. Come on, let's go. Susan didn't think you were followed, but we have to be sure."

Deni nodded, feeling exhaustion seeping through her entire being as she leaned back against the passenger seat a few minutes later.

"How was the trip?" Jenn asked.

"It was... long," Deni said. Just... long. Four days of looking over her shoulder, afraid Jim had figured out where she had gone, afraid he had come after her, afraid he might harm Layla, of wondering if she should have insisted Layla come with her, afraid of feeling guilty for thinking of selfishly dragging Layla away from her own, ordered, selfish life because... why? Because she was afraid to be alone. "And... nervous. I'm still afraid, I guess," she confessed, though why she was telling this perfect stranger this, she wasn't sure. Jenn nodded.

"We all are, at first. It'll get easier with time, but sometimes the fear still wakes me up in the night, and it's been two years for me."

"What's the shelter like?" Deni asked. "Susan didn't tell me much about where I was going."

"That's the rules. We don't talk about it outside the shelter, just in case the wrong person picks up on it. We don't want our location to fall into the wrong hands. Too many chances the women there will be in danger if their ex's find out where we are."

"Has that ever happened?"

"We've had to change our location twice in the past fifteen years, both times because one of the women in the shelter phoned home to talk to their mother or their sister, someone they trusted, and the husband got a private investigator to check incoming calls to that number."

"It's really that easy?" A cold ball of fear settled in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't aware her voice had risen in pitch until Jenn smiled.

"You sound like all of us, but we're one of the safest shelters in the country, and we can move you fast if we have to. We have more resources than most. We got a very generous private donation five years ago, and we've used the money wisely. It's let us help a lot of people."

Deni nodded, but didn't say much more until they pulled up outside a large house in the suburbs. From the outside, it looked like a big, old, peaceful manor house in the country.

"This is the intake house," Jenn said. "Paula will talk to you and then decide whether you'll stay here or be moved again."

"Who pays for all this?"

"Some government funding, the rest is private donations. Food, clothes, expenses, all of it's covered for us. Most of the volunteers and staff are former residents of the shelter. There's also a clothing store downtown we'll take you to, some of the women work there a few hours a week to get back on their feet. You'll have some clothes provided, not much at first, but we'll help you put your life back together, Deni. You'll be safe here."

"Any rules I should know about?"

"You can come and go as you please, but don't talk to anyone on the outside about the shelter or any one else staying here. Let anyone know where you're going and watch your back. We'll give you access to financial assistance and employment and counseling resources. I'd advise you to find a family doctor in the city and get checked out, tell him or her what happened to you and they'll refer you to a counselor that will be paid for. When you're ready," she added quickly. Deni nodded, taking her advice in stride, and then got out of the car. When Jenn came in with her she was immediatey surprised to see a desk inside the front door, where a woman was sitting. She reached for a phone.

"Paula, she's here," she said. "Welcome to Abbott House. I'm Karen. I lived here for three years and still come back every day to help out." She smiled and Deni shook her hand. A heavyset woman with dark hair and sad brown eyes came around the corner and looked Deni up and down.

"You have the look," she said softly. "You'll be Deni, then. Susan phoned about you."

"I'm Deni."

"All right. Karen will give you some forms to fill out and then we'll get you a room for the night. Tomorrow we'll talk about where you'll best fit."

"Okay." She wasn't sure she wanted to know exactly what Karen meant by 'the look.' She was too tired for her brain to register all of that.

She took about ten minutes to fill out the forms and then Karen passed her a set of keys on a ring. "Come on up," she said. "You've had a long trip. I'm sure you're tired and hungry. Welcome to the Underground, Deni."

Deni followed Paula inside and up the stairs. The house was a split-level with the stairway both up and down in the entrance. Karen's desk was set up on the landing. Stairs led into a basement and up the stairs. She was shown up the stairs to a room in the northwest corner of the house. It was a small bedroom, a bed, dresser, closet, and small desk in the corner - not much else. Paula left her while she looked around and returned a moment later with a heavy crocheted afghan.

"This is for you," she said. "Come with me to pick out some clothes to fit you." They left the room again. The door clicked behind her and was locked, so Deni made a mental note not to leave her keys behind when she left the room. She smelled good food and coffee in the kitchen and her stomach rumbled, but more than anything she wanted clean clothes and a shower first.

Paula took her down a flight of stairs into the basement, which was divided into three sections - two more rooms were on one side, a big TV and stereo in the middle, an office with computer set up in the corner. Two women were in there watching news. "Ladies, this is Deni, our newest arrival." Both women turned - and Deni saw in their eyes the same look she had begun to see in her own - the same look she saw in Paula, Karen, and Jenn. So that was what Paula had meant by 'the look.' "This is Kathleen and Sara," Paula said, indicating each in turn. Both nodded and returned their attention to the television. "Everyone when they come here is a little shy. You'll get to know them if you stay." She led Deni past the living room, where there was a large hallway. One side was set up with shelves filled with canned goods and non-perishable food. The other was lined with clothes. Paula reached to a top shelf and pulled down a brand-new backpack, which still had the tags attached.

"What's your clothing size?" she asked. When Deni told her, she filled the bag with two pairs of jeans, dress pants, and three shirts, one of them dressy, then reached into the pantry for a bar of soap, deodorant, toothpaste, and shampoo. She passed the bag to Deni.

"This is yours, and when you leave you can take everything with you," she said. "We know people come here with nothing." She gave Deni a warm smile and a gentle hug. "I'll leave you to it, so you can shower and rest." She passed Deni a fluffy towel as well. Grateful, Deni thanked her, took her things upstairs, and went to shower.

It was dark when she woke from a long nap. Blinking, disoriented, she looked around, and saw that, being the middle of January, the time was still early - just after five in the evening. Rubbing sleep from her eyes she pushed the afghan off and crawled out from under the sleeping bag on her bed. She rose, went to the bathroom and washed, then came into the kitchen, where Kathleen was pouring some coffee. "Want some?" she offered, and Deni nodded.

"Sure."

"I know it's hard," she said as she passed the cup over. Deni accepted it and took a gratful sip. "I've been here two months. You start getting used to it, but, it takes a while. Sara and Aggie have been here longer. Aggie a year I think. She's sort of the 'mom' - she's taken us all under her wing and is as much support to us as we are to her. The first thing you'll learn is not to get too attached too fast. People come and go all the time."

"How does Paula decide whether anyone will move elsewhere?"

"Depends on how dangerous their ex happens to be. If he's a really big threat then they'll try to find the woman a safer place, where there's more security. If not, they stay here for a while, and when they bring someone new in, they'll decide who'll be moved to a bed someplace else. They'll protect you until you're confident to get a new job and start your own life someplace else." Deni nodded. What Kathleen was saying made sense, but it was still too much to think about. She closed her eyes, sipping her coffee, then made herself a sandwich. She wasn't really hungry but she hadn't eaten anything since the bus's last stop that morning. When she finished she found Paula in the downstairs living room, at the computer.

"You said you wanted to talk."

"Yeah, sit down," Paula said, indicating the empty chair beside her desk. Deni sat. "I know it's hard to talk about, but, in order to find a place for you we need to know how much danger you're in."

"I don't know. I never even threatened to leave Jim." Leave Jim. Deni's heart sank as she began to fully realize what she had done. Jim would have realized it by now... days ago. "I was too afraid. I don't think Jim ever really thought I would leave him."

Paula nodded. "Did he ever threaten your life?"

"Not in so many words. He just kept... hitting me. Over and over."

"Do you think you can get proof?"

"Hospital records. I'm not sure how to go about getting them." She'd been admitted twice for visible injuries - but otherwise Jim had been very careful not to leave marks.

"We can help with that," Paula said, writing the information down. "Do you think he'll come after you?"

"I'm not sure... probably. I was the sole bread-winner, so he'll figure he needs me."

"If he needs you, he'll feel humiliated about being dependent on you, but it means he probably won't kill you. All right - you're safe here for a day or two, but I'm going to make arrangements to have you moved to another facility, okay?"

"Okay." Deni nodded. Paula returned to her paperwork, and Deni took that as a dismissal. She rose and returned to her room. Closing the door, she locked herself inside, sank to the floor and wept.

Chapter 2

8 Hours Missing

"I really don't know what to tell you, Agent Malone, I'm just so worried." Jim Masters was pacing the floor, clearly agitated.

"Why don't you start by telling me what happened the last time you saw her?"

"This morning, when she left for work. She seemed fine, I don't understand any of this."

"Did she seem upset? Nervous? Have you had any marital problems lately?" Jack ran through the list of usual questions. In answer to each, Jim Masters shook his head.

"No. No, nothing like that, I swear."

"Has she ever done anything like this before?"

"No, we've been very happy, she always calls, I'm telling you, something bad has happened to my wife. Why are you wasting time asking me these questions while she's out there, maybe in trouble?" the man's voice raised in pitch as though he were bordering on the verge of hysteria. Jack raised an eyebrow but did not otherwise appear concerned.

"This is part of it, Mr. Masters. I have to ask these questions to help determine where your wife might have gone. Please try to stay calm." Masters nodded.

"Now. Take me through it from the beginning."

"It was just like any other day, Agent Malone. She's always gone before me. She got up, had a shower, and left to met her friend what's-her-name for coffee and a bagel before work."

"We're going to need what's-her-name's name."

"I don't know. Some... hooker name. Layla, or something. Her best friend, I don't know, they always hung out together. Seemed pretty tight." Hooker name, thought Malone as he wrote the information down. This was a charming fellow.

"Where were you today, Mr. Masters?"

"Here. Alone. I lost my job a few weeks ago." Masters' agitated pacing resumed and Malone sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache beginning to form there. Malone left him be and walked over to where Special Agent Danny Taylor was examining a curious stain on the floor.

"What've you got?"

"Could be blood. I'll have CSU send samples to the lab. There's a broken picture frame on the dresser over there. Something went down in this room, Jack. What'd you get from the husband?"

"Not much, sealed up tight as a drum, but it sure sounds like he didn't care much for her friends. I'm guessing she didn't have many."

"You liking him for it?"

"I don't know, maybe, too soon to tell. Keep looking."

"Jack," called Special Agent Vivian Johnson, holding up a bottle of whiskey with less than an ounce left inside, with a gloved hand. Jack nodded.

"Husband says he's been having some personal problems lately. Ten to one says it's his. I'm not liking the feel of this, Viv."

"You think he hurt her?"

"I think he's got something to hide. What, I don't know yet." into the bedroom, where Special Agent Samantha Spade was seated at the computer, reading emails.

"Anything?"

"No, not yet. The last few were from the wife to this friend of hers, Layla, arranging a movie night. Some stuff for her work, mostly letters. Nothing from the husband. Must be her computer. I'll stick around and keep looking."

"All right. I'll leave Martin here with you. Taylor, Viv, go check out her office and find this Layla person. I'm going back to the office to get a subpoena for her phone records."

"Got it." Taylor and Johnson gathered their things and headed for Deni Masters' office.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 3

10 Hours Missing

Special Agent Vivian Johnson stood looking up at the building where Deni Masters had worked as a newspaper editor for the past ten years. Beside her, Special Agent Danny Taylor sighed, bouncing impatiently from one foot to the other in an attempt to stay warm in the bitter wind.

"Cold?" She asked him.

"Just a little, can we go inside now?" Vivian smiled to herself as Taylor's expression took on a puppy-dog look. Men could be so wimpy sometimes. A man in an overcoat came to the door, and let them in.

"Thank you for coming in, Mr. Davis, I appreciate you meeting us here."

"Anything I can do to help. When your agent spoke to me on the phone I was floored."

"Did Mrs. Masters come in to work today?" Taylor asked.

"Yes, she seemed a little agitated but otherwise fine."

"Has she said anything about any trouble at home?"

"Just that Jim had been a little upset about losing his job. She didn't say anything, but I got the impression that things weren't so good in that house."

"Why is that?"

"She came in one day limping, said it was a tennis injury, but we'd had a wicked deadline the day before and she hadn't left the office til around two in the morning. I couldn't see her making the time to play tennis before coming to work at eight. Then... last week she came in with this nasty bruise on her cheek. She said she fell, whacked a chair real bad on the way down. I didn't buy it."

"You think he hit her."

"Yeah, I do."

"Why is that?" Vivian asked, glancing at Taylor, who was taking notes.

"Look. Deni was always quiet but in her case... it was a little too much so, you know? Always sat by herself at lunch, or with this one friend of hers, Layla. If anyone knew what was going on in that house, it was her. Deni really didn't have that many other real friends around her."

"Sounds like you paid pretty close attention," Vivian observed. "We're going to need Layla's address."

"Sure, sure, anything I can do to help. For what it's worth... I hope you find her." He flipped through a Rolodex and scribbled the address on a piece of paper he passed to them, making it clear that the interview was over. The two agents exchanged glances.

"Mr. Davis, we're going to need to take a look at Deni's work station, all right?" The look on Davis' face suggested that it was anything but okay, and the way he looked at his watch said clearly he wasn't too pleased about being kept at the office at this time of night.

"Look, you could stay awake for another hour or two and let us have access now," said Taylor "or we can wake up a judge and come back in an hour or two with a court order, but it's one more hour that we won't be able to spend looking for Mrs. Masters, and we can slap an obstruction charge on you. What's it going to be?"

Davis showed them to Deni Masters' workstation and left them alone. Vivian sighed.

"What did you get out of that?"

"I got that Mr. Helpful suddenly decided to clam up when we wanted to see her computer. He's hiding something. He knows more than he told us."

"You thinking they were having an affair?"

"I don't know what I'm thinking." Vivian turned on the computer and Danny started looking through her desk. In the first drawer he found a framed photograph of a young hispanic girl and a big, fluffy German shephard.

"Layla. Think this could be Layla's kid?"

"Sure."

Vivian frowned. All of Deni's emails seemed to be work related, at least recently. "Okay, I'm going to pull this computer and have the tech guys take a looks, but I don't think there's anything here," she said. "Most of the emails were to her sources and none in the days leading up to her disappearance."

"Sources? I thought her boss said she was an editor."

"Looks like she might have been digging into a story on her own time."

"Think it's relevant?"

"Right now, everything is relevant. It was six months ago, though, so it might not be." Vivian closed out of the emails and opened up her documents file."

"This is something." Taylor held up a ratty looking notebook. "Looks like an agenda."

"Pack it up. We'll take it back to the office to go through. Let's go talk to Layla."

"Right."

12 Hours Missing

"Can I help you?" the Hispanic man who came to the door looked sleepy and annoyed as Vivian and Danny displayed their badges. Rightfully so, since it was shortly after midnight.

"Mr. Caruso?"

"Yes."

"I'm Special Agent Johnson, this is Special Agent Taylor, we're with the FBI. May we come in?"

"What's this about?"

"We're looking into the disappearance of Deni Masters, we have some questions for your wife."

"Sure, I'll get her. Come on in." he waved his hands in an apathetic gesture and they followed him inside. Layla Caruso, when she appeared, was a woman in her mid-thirties wearing a pair of flannel pajamas.

"Mrs. Caruso, my name is Vivian Johnson, this is Danny Taylor, we're with the FBI."

"You're here about Deni. Oh, my God. He reported her missing."

"Then you know where she is?"

"Not exactly." Layla sat down on the couch and glanced at Danny first, then Vivian. She sighed. "He's had this private investigator following her. If he's called the FBI chances are that investigator is still on her tail." He sighed. "Agents... Deni was being abused. I helped her get away but... it might not be over yet. If Jim suspected something you can bet he's been spending her money to try to find her on his own. What did he tell you?"

"That... he was worried something terrible had happened."

"If it has, he's the one who did it. Ever since Jim lost his job he's been hitting her. I didn't know for sure until earlier this week. I convinced her to go to a safe house but... now I'm not sure the safe house was the safest place. If he had his P.I. trying to find her than the PI would have followed the bus. You have to find her. Make sure she's safe. Find her before that bastard Jim does." Layla's voice was coming in rapid sentences and there was real fear in Layla's eyes.

"Who was your contact at the shelter?"

"Her name's Susan. I don't know her last name. I'll get you her number. After she got on the bus I have no idea where they took her."

"This investigator, have you seen him?"

"Yeah, I think so. There was this guy when we were out for dinner the other night. Tall, baldheaded with a moustache. Real mean-looking, like one of those thugs you see in the movies. I don't think this guy was your run-of-the-mill out for justice PI.."

"If he was unethical enough to follow a woman where there might be abuse going on, you're probably right. All right. I'd like to post a couple of uniforms outside in case this PI shows up to find out what you know, okay?"

"Is my daughter safe?" Layla asked. Vivian nodded.

"Jim Masters wouldn't have anything to gain by harming your daughter, Mrs. Masters, but all the same I'd like to leave those cops outside."

"Sure. If there's anything else I can do..." Vivian nodded.

"Thank you for your time." Vivian reached for her cell phone. "Jack. We have a problem."


End file.
